


The Day the Mountain Burned

by Antarctica_or_bust



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Angst and Humor, Awesome dwarf women, BAMF Dwalin, Bifur Feels, Bifur's Axe Injury (Tolkien), Brotherhood, Brotherly Love, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Destruction of Dale, Durin Family, Durin Family Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erebor, Family Feels, Games, Gen, Headcanon, Heavy Angst, Hurts So Good, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Nori is a Little Shit, Pining, Poignant, Post-Sack of Erebor, Pre-Canon, Randoms OC dwarves who are never seen again, Romance, Survivor Guilt, Thorin Feels, Young Fíli and Kíli, Young Ori
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarctica_or_bust/pseuds/Antarctica_or_bust
Summary: None of Thorin's companions will ever forget where they were when Smaug attacked.





	1. Dwalin

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently angsty gen is still the only thing that I can write for Hobbit fic right now. I blame the kink meme for this one, as usual.

When the alarm bells started ringing, Dwalin ran to bolster the gates of Erebor. He stood shoulder to shoulder with dwarves that he’d fought beside for decades, the strongest warriors who could be found within the Lonely Mountain’s guard. They were the strongest but Smaug tore through their ranks like cheap iron anyway.

The dragon burst through the gates with a noise like thunder, a few swipes of his claws scattering the dwarves out of his path. Smaug was a force of nature and no one could stand against him, they could only run for cover as fire poured across the floor.

Dwalin tried to give his warriors courage. The dwarf rallied those around him and charged forward to attack, but even his great axe just bounced off crimson scales. He made a single useless strike before Smaug’s tail slammed into his stomach and sent him flying hard into the wall. Dwalin lay there dazed while the wyrm ransacked his homeland and of those who had fought with him, only ten survived.


	2. Nori & Dori

Nori was in jail. Or rather, he was being marched in that direction while Dori argued with his guards. His older brother was in a proper snit about evidence and persecution, his words tinged with desperation because he knew that Nori was probably in the wrong.

In fact, the dwarf had been caught almost red-handed, his theft going sideways when the guards switched their patrols. Sure they hadn’t found the stolen goods yet but it was only a matter of time and then Nori would be swinging for his crimes.

Dori had been warning him that he’d die like this for years and now that the day had come, Nori felt a twinge of guilt for the trouble that he’d caused. However, that didn’t stop him from taking advantage of his brother’s beautiful distraction to pick his manacles. As long as Dori kept on shouting, this should only take a second and it was clearly time for Nori to be moving on again.

The dwarf was so focused on the locks around his wrists that he didn’t actually notice when Dori’s racket stopped. Because there were others yelling then and the shouting turned to screams just as his shackles clicked. 

Moments later, the roof began to fall and instead of running for his freedom, Nori could only cover his head up with his hands. The dwarf huddled on the ground as rocks crashed down around him and he swore he heard the sound of laughter passing by.

When the dust finally settled, there was no more talk of prison. Nori and his guards worked side by side to dig out the survivors, the dwarf hugging his brother tightly once he’d staggered to his feet. 

“You were never here,” the head guard told them before running off into the city and the dwarves could live with that. Indeed, they made a promise then, one they’ve kept for decades, and when someone asks Nori or Dori where they were when Smaug attacked, the brothers Ri claim faulty memories.


	3. Glóin

Glóin met his wife by dragon fire. The dwarf was working in the forges when Erebor’s great bells began to ring, the notes sounding out a cadence that he never thought he’d hear. That signal wasn’t telling Glóin to come defend his city, it was telling him to run from a kingdom that was lost.

So the dwarf threw his gear together and sprinted up the stairs. He took the tunnel toward his home and ran straight into bedlam. There were dwarves running to and fro, some shouting about dragons, and Glóin was desperately grateful that his older brother was still off traveling. If there truly was a dragon, then the bells were right and Erebor was doomed; Thrór's guards were not prepared to fight off such a monster, though the dwarf dashed inside his house to grab his weapons anyway. He would need his axes no matter how this battle ended and perhaps his kin had been mistaken about the nature of the threat.

All told, Glóin spent maybe ten minutes in his house. He threw a travel pack together – gold, clothes, and smithing tools wrapped around some family heirlooms – and grabbed his axes from the wall. But when he walked outside again, he found the street aflame. It seemed the stones themselves were melted, cloth and torches burned to cinders and for a moment the dwarrow could only gape in shock.

Although the warrior had fought his share of battles, no enemy had ever reached behind the lines, and his heart ached to see these tunnels ruined utterly.

“Watch out!”

Something slammed into Glóin and knocked him off his feet just as a piece of burning timber crashed down where he had stood. The dwarf landed hard on the stone, his pack flying in one direction and his axes in another. He grunted when an elbow dug into his stomach and a knee caught in his thigh, his rescuer struggling to her feet awkwardly.

It was a dwarrowmaid, one Glóin didn’t recognize. Her clothes were worn and plain with soot and burn marks on the hem, but her expression was fierce and her stance was proud as she looked down at him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” his rescuer asked sharply. “This is no time for lollygagging; there’s a dragon on the loose.”

Despite her tone, the dwarrowmaid held out a hand to help him up and with that touch, Glóin's heart was lost for good.


	4. Bombur

Bombur was having a picnic near Mirkwood forest with his wife and both their children. The first he knew of trouble was when his younger daughter asked him, “Where are the elves going?” and he turned to see an army on the move.

The dwarf had never met King Thranduil but the elf was unmistakable even at this distance, his pale hair shining in the light as he guided his elk forward. Thranduil and his warriors were traveling toward the Lonely Mountain and even though they paid no attention to the small group of dwarves, Bombur was certain that this could mean nothing good. 

So the dwarves packed up their picnic hurriedly. If Mirkwood was declaring war on Erebor then King Thrór would need a warning and if not, Bombur could not imagine Thranduil mobilizing such an army without cause. Either way the Lonely Mountain was under attack and yet nothing could have prepared the dwarf for the sight that met his eyes. 

When Bombur looked down upon the valley, the city of Dale was burning and the gates of Erebor were broken. Men and dwarves were milling about in panic, far too few of both for the numbers there should be.

“Kaminzabdûna defend us,” Bombur’s wife whispered as her husband stared in shock. “Our home… our friends… our kin. We must _help_ them.”

So the dwarves picked up their daughters and ran to aid their kinsmen while King Thranduil and his army just stood watching from the hill. The elves did nothing even as Bombur and his family moved from dwarf to dwarf and tried to help the injured, even their own clothing torn for bandages. 

There were so many corpses, so many burned and bleeding, and Bombur nearly started crying when he discovered Bifur wandering near Dale. The dwarrow did start crying when Bofur staggered from the city with a small group of miners, passing through the gates only seconds before they were blocked by rubble, enormous stones knocked loose by Smaug’s triumphant roar.

The dragon’s attack cost Bombur everything he owned: his home, his tools, his fortune and all his family heirlooms. But the dwarf fared better than many of his kinsmen and his children always were his greatest treasures anyway.


	5. Ori

At first Ori didn’t realize that anything was wrong. His mother often told him to go play hide-and-seek when she was busy and he’d been tucked beneath her loom for half a candle when he heard the screaming start.

Ori didn’t recognize the sound of fear in those days. He grew up with light and laughter, with joy instead of sorrow, and he was more curious than scared. The young dwarf enjoyed games; he was always looking for a new one and whatever was making his neighbors sound like that must be quite interesting.

However, the dwarf decided to stay hidden even as the screams grew louder. His mother had promised to bake teacakes if she couldn’t find him before supper and his love of cake was stronger than his curiosity. Ori could ask his neighbors about their new game later; for now he had to win this round of hide-and-seek.

But a few minutes later, a familiar voice called out above the rest. “Ori, please, where are you? The game is over sweetie.”

When the dwarf peeked out from under his mother’s loom, he saw her standing in the doorway with her face streaked wet with tears. He hesitated for a moment because _teacakes_ but eventually he crawled out into the room.

“Mum? Are you all right?” Ori asked as his mother swept him into a tight hug.

“Nothing, darling, nothing. We’re just going to play a different game right now.”

She told him the rules as she led him into the kitchen and although Ori wasn’t sure why they were packing food and clothing, he didn’t question it. This was a game, she said so, and that made the process fun.

By the time Ori’s brothers stumbled in smelling of soot and fire, everything was ready. Nori and Dori took their packs while their mother picked up Ori and then the group ran back outside. The dwarrowdam held her youngest close as they moved through the city, keeping his face against her shoulder so that he couldn’t see. He only caught flashes of broken stone and fire, other dwarves lying still and quiet on the ground.

“Where are we going?” Ori asked when they reached the entrance of the mountain. He’d never been outside the gates and he wasn’t sure he liked this new game anymore.

“We’re off on an adventure, sweetling,” Ori’s mother told him and to this day, he isn’t sure whether or not his mother lied.


	6. Bofur

Bofur was in the mines when Smaug attacked and the force of the dragon’s onslaught shook the mountain to her core. Although the tunnels were built too well for cave-ins, the dwarf felt the stone walls shudder as they never had before.

Erebor was straining against something and Bofur traded a worried glance with the miner at his side. The mountain had her moods and some days were not for digging, working when she didn’t wish it could only bring disaster on them all. 

Most of the miners decided to leave, though a few did stay behind in case the mountain settled later on. Bofur had a feeling that she wouldn’t, that there was something truly wrong, and it was better to lose a day of work then test her patience now. He was prepared to explain his decision to the foreman but when he reached the mine entrance, he found the place deserted. Where there should have been two dozen dwarves, Bofur saw none at all.

“Where is everyone?”

“I don’t know. Stay on your guard,” the dwarf replied, gripping his pick axe tightly. He’d never seen these halls so empty and he moved forward cautiously. However, when Bofur finally saw another living soul, it was not an enemy. An older dwarf was sprinting through the corridors and he nearly crashed into the miner before he stumbled to a stop. 

“What’s the hurry, friend?” Bofur asked, steadying the dwarrow with one hand.

“Don’t you know? Where in Mahal’s name have you been? Didn’t you hear the alarms?”

“We were mining the southern vein when we felt the mountain shudder,” Bofur told him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Erebor is under attack,” the other dwarf gasped out. “The upper levels are on fire and we all need to leave right now.”

“Under attack? By what?”

“A dragon,” the dwarrow whispered before running off again.

“A dragon!” 

The word spread through the miners like a wildfire. Some went back to warn the others while some dashed off down the tunnels toward their homes. Bofur didn’t try to stop them, but he didn’t follow either. If there truly was a dragon then there was no time to spare; better to lose the rest of his belongings than to lose his life as well.

Several of his companions agreed with him and the miners struck out for the surface as quickly as they could. As they neared the gates, the dwarves began to see evidence of the dragon’s passage: burned bodies nearly choked some walkways and whole corridors had collapsed.

A few side passages were clear but the miners were often forced to dig their way through the blocked tunnels and Bofur was increasingly grateful for the pick axe in his hands. Even so the trip seemed to take hours, the dwarves twitching nervously whenever the dragon roared. They couldn’t see the beast but they could hear him; his voice shook the Lonely Mountain down to her foundations and Bofur knew they’d die in seconds if he stumbled on them now.

However, the wyrm must have been busy elsewhere because the dwarves reached Erebor’s grand entry hall without seeing tooth or scale. There was only one last sprint toward freedom, the mountain’s gates standing open and hanging off one hinge. 

Perhaps Bofur would escape with his life if not his livelihood and he could only pray that his kinsmen had left Erebor this morning as they’d been planning to. But the miner had barely started to relax when there was a deafening crash from the tunnels to his left; something enormous was traveling this way.

“Run!” Bofur shouted and the dwarves took off. 

The miner didn’t dare look back as a rush of heat licked at his boots, a low rumbling laugh following the flames. He would never forget that chuckle. He would never forget the screams when one of the others stumbled on the stones beneath their feet. 

But the gates were growing closer and Bofur pulled more strength from somewhere for another burst of speed.

The miner and his companions were nearly out when there was a flash of crimson in the corner of his eye. A deafening roar was Bofur’s only warning before the stone above the gates began to crumble and the dwarf dove for his freedom desperately.

When the rocks stopped falling, Bofur was lying in front of Erebor with half a dozen others. The gates were sealed and there were boulders everywhere. One had missed his head by inches and even as the other dwarves began to stagger upright, the miner just lay on his back and breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this one.


	7. Balin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not completely AWOL, I swear.

Balin remembers standing on the ramparts and watching as Dale burned. He was one of the first to see the dragon, one of the first to realize what that roaring wind could mean. That sound was the harbinger of destruction and the dwarf had not wished to hear it. He did not want to know that his city’s doom had come.

But Balin’s denial was not enough to stop the dragon when Smaug swept down from the sky, fire on his tongue and murder in his eyes. The dwarf could hear Dale’s bells from clear across the valley even as the Lonely Mountain’s watchmen sounded the alarm. He knew that he should join them, that he should draw his sword in the defense of Erebor as he knew his brother would.

Yet Balin couldn’t move. Balin could only stand frozen as Smaug turned his flames upon him and sometimes he feels as though he truly died there, as though Thorin grabbed his arm too late and he was burned to ashes with the kingdom that he loved.


	8. Fíli

Fíli doesn’t remember much about his father. He remembers warm brown eyes and hair as bright as sunshine, strong arms lifting him high upon broad shoulders and a laughing voice that rumbled in his ears. 

But the dwarf’s most vivid memory is of the day his father died. 

Durgan had taken his young son to the hall of gemstones where dwarves made diamonds sparkle and polished shining stones. Fíli loved watching the gem-cutters work and one day he wished to be one. He wanted to create jewelry for his mother and braid beads for his father. However, his first project was to be a gift for the sibling soon to come. Brother or sister, Fíli was excited at the prospect and he was determined to have his present ready before the babe arrived.

So the prince dragged his father down rows and rows of gemstones, looking for the perfect one to carve. He dismissed diamonds as too bright and rubies as too scary, emeralds as too elvish and topaz as too weird. But the sapphires were the color of his mother’s formal dresses and Fíli picked out a dark blue gem carefully.

“This one,” he told his father.

“A good choice,” the dwarf replied with proper solemnity. Fíli settled the gemstone in his pocket, making sure that it was well secured while his father finished bargaining. Then Durgan took his hand and led him toward the door.

“Let’s go show your mother what you’ve gotten,” his dad said with a wide smile, the last Fíli would ever see. 

Because moments later there was a deafening crack and Durgan barely had time to cover his son with his own body as the back wall exploded suddenly. Fíli couldn’t hear his own voice screaming over the sound of falling stone, but he will never forget the silence afterward.

When Fíli lifted his head, the hall of gemstones was utterly destroyed. Where there had been precious jewels and gem-cutters, there was only rubble, blood and fire to be seen. There were no cries for help, no moans from injured dwarrows, and he wanted nothing more than to hear his father speak.

“Dad? Are you okay?” the young dwarf asked, his voice quavering. But there was no answer and when he pulled himself free of the rubble, his searching gaze was met by his father’s bloodstained face. Durgan was half buried in the doorway, most of his body covered by rocks and broken stones, and he didn’t even twitch when Fíli shook his arm. 

“Please, dad. Please get up,” he begged. But his father didn’t answer. Durgan would never speak or laugh or hold his son again.

The prince still doesn’t know how long he sat there crying before his uncle found him. Strong arms pulled Fíli away from his father’s body and he struggled until he recognized Thorin’s soot-stained face.

“Come, my sister-son,” his uncle murmured, tucking Fíli against his chest. “Your mother is worried and we cannot stay here anymore.”

“But my dad…” the young dwarf pleaded.

“I am sorry, Fíli,” Thorin told him. “Durgan has gone to Mahal and we cannot bring the dead.”

His uncle’s words triggered a fresh bout of weeping and Thorin’s tunic was soaked through before he handed Fíli off to a guardsman running by. This dwarf brought the prince straight to his mother and when she wrapped her arms around him, he almost felt safe again.

\---

Life was harder after that. Life was cold, hungry, and exhausting as it had never been before and Fíli missed his father constantly.

When he finally realized that the sapphire was still there in his pocket, the prince nearly started sobbing and his mother did burst into tears when he offered her the gemstone to help pay for their supplies. Even though they could have used the money, Dis would not accept it. She told her son that the jewel had been a gift to him from Durgan and that his father would have wanted him to show his sibling just how dearly they were loved.

So Fíli scrounged up what tools he could and spent all his free time carving. Soon intricate engravings covered every facet of the sapphire, each symbol representing a different memory. The young dwarf wanted to create a token that Durgan could be proud of and when Kíli was born a few months later, Fíli gave his father’s final present to the son he’d never meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm so sorry.


	9. Bifur

Bifur was about to enter Dale that morning. His pony was loaded up with goods and he hoped that a successful day of trading would fill his pockets with good coin. But he was halfway across the bridge when the city burst into flames before him, a wave of heat almost knocking the dwarf right off his feet. His pony shrieked in terror and bolted down the valley, tearing the lead rope out of his hands as he shouted curses in Khuzdûl.

Bifur started running after his wayward animal and he’d just reached the other side of the bridge when an echoing roar froze him in his tracks. The noise was deafening, a solid wave of sound that struck him to the bone, and when he turned around to look, Bifur forgot about his pony. He forgot about everything but the dragon that was sweeping across the sky.

The dwarf watched the great red wyrm attack Dale without mercy, standing frozen as groups of men and women fled past him in terror. He watched Lord Girion attempt to stand against the dragon, shooting arrow after arrow from Dale’s highest tower top. But even a dwarvish wind-lance couldn’t pierce that monster’s hide and another burst of flame soon brought the tower down.

Bifur saw it all. He saw Dale and its people burn to ashes, bearing silent witness to ruin of their lives. He saw the dragon turn his eye toward Erebor, intent on claiming the Lonely Mountain and its riches for his own.

Bifur watched and wept and when a stray projectile slammed into his forehead, he fell unconscious where he stood.


	10. Kíli

Kíli was not yet born when Smaug destroyed his people’s homeland. He was a spark of life within his mother as she fled from Erebor, tears upon her face and Fíli in her arms. The dwarf has no memory of the destruction that Smaug wrought up his family, no memories of his father or the many cousins whose bones the mountain holds.

The only piece of Erebor that Kíli carries with him is the gift his brother gave him on the day that he was born. Intricately carved with symbols of his people, the sapphire represents a world he’s never seen and a life he’s never known. But more importantly to Kíli, it’s a symbol of his brother and the love his family holds. Indeed, the dwarf doesn’t need a kingdom to be happy. He’s content to be just Kíli rather than a prince of Erebor.

However, when his brother tells him of the fire that still haunts his dreams sometimes, the dwarf can’t stop a shiver. When he thinks about the mountain, sometimes he swears he feels an echo of his mother’s grief buried deep inside him, Dis’ fear and sorrow passed down within his blood.

Kíli hurts for her sake. He hurts for the sake of Fíli's nightmares and the way his brother cries when he talks about their father. The dwarf doesn’t love Erebor, not really, but he loves his kinsfolk. He loves his mother, his brother and the father that he only knows from Fíli's stories and when his uncle asks for aid to reclaim his fallen kingdom, Kíli swears his vow upon the gemstone that never leaves his neck.


	11. Óin

In some ways, Óin was lucky. When Smaug fell upon the Lonely Mountain, the old dwarrow was not there. He had spent several weeks traveling to the Iron Hills to visit his mother’s kinfolk and on his return, Óin camped a day’s trek out. 

The dwarf saw no reason to rush his journey when the weather was delightful and he was quite enjoying his own company. Although he loved his home, Erebor was a bustling kingdom and the healer could use a break from the many demands upon his time. There were always sick and injured to be seen to, often more than he could manage in a day.

So Óin was content with the knowledge that his apprentices were well-trained, both dwarves near to reaching a healer’s mastery. His patients would be well taken care of with Brigda left in charge and the dwarf felt no guilt about allowing his feet to dawdle on the path.

However, when the healer crested the last rise, his sense of contentment vanished instantly. There should have been lights to greet him, the torches by the gates of Erebor ignited every evening when dusk began to fall. There should have been farmers rushing home and hunters carrying game back to their families while trading caravans camped outside the walls of Dale.

But Óin saw only death. He saw soot-covered ruins and charred corpses on the plain and his heart trembled in his chest. 

The healer wandered through the valley in a state of shock, unable to comprehend how such utter destruction could have occurred while he was gone. It took him days to track down the survivors, days of worry and self-recrimination. Because the healer should have been there to help his kinsfolk; he should have been there to treat the injured and indeed, he was conscripted into duty as soon as he arrived. There were so many wounded and so few supplies with which to heal them. There were few who had the knowledge, the weight of Óin's grief growing deeper when his brother told him that both of his apprentices had died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 1 chapter left now.


	12. Thorin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't mean to go AWOL on you. Sorry.

On most nights, Thorin dreams of fire. He dreams of Smaug rising high above him and breathing scorching flames across the ramparts of his home. He dreams of rallying his soldiers, of sending them off to slow the dragon and knowing that he would never see those dwarves again.

The dwarf lord remembers searching through his kingdom in a panic, finding his sister and sending her toward the gates with all that she could carry even as she begged him to go back for her son. Thorin remembers finding Fíli sitting by his father’s body, the lad’s tears soaking through his tunic, and he will never forget the whimper his sister-son made when he gave him to a passing guardsman and told the dwarf to run.

Thorin had gone to find his grandfather, determined to save as many of his kinfolk as he could. He found Thrór in his treasure hall and dragged the king to safety as Smaug's triumphant roar sounded through the heart of Erebor. The old dwarf had struggled, the Arkenstone falling from his fingers and disappearing into a hoard of stolen gold. Thrór had tried to grab it. The king had been willing to die for his great treasure, and after Azanulbizar, Thorin sometimes wonders if he should have let the old fool try.

But he could not have done it. Not when there were so few survivors, every life lost a bleeding wound on the surface of his heart. Indeed, when the dwarf lord dreams of running from the mountain, of seeing desperation on the faces of his kinsfolk, Thorin wakes up weeping even now.

 

_End_


End file.
